Fragments
by dancinginthesunlight
Summary: A collection of one-shots about some behind-the-scenes moments from the books. 1: Sirius decides his room could use some redecorating. His mother is not exactly thrilled. 2: One-sided Dramione. 3: "James really isn't as funny as he thinks he is."
1. Talking 'bout my generation

For **lezonne**'s **Duct Tape Competition** on HPFC.

Color: Black

Prompt: write canon

Summary: Sirius decides his room could use some redecorating. His mother is not exactly thrilled.

Word count: 645

**Black**

"Sirius Black, open this door _now_!"

The pounding of an open palm against the solid wood of his bedroom door beat a persistent rhythm through the humidity that pervaded 12 Grimmauld Place, but Sirius ignored it. What he'd give for Lily Evans' record player right now, if only for the satisfaction of whatever response his mother would give to _The Who _or _The Kinks_ or whoever Lily (and by extension James) was obsessed with this week.

There was a softer tapping noise amidst his mother's yelling-knocking combination. Sirius glanced over at the window. James's owl sat on the ledge, gazing with apparent disapproval at the unmade bed and the pile of dirty laundry that took up a large portion of the floor. Sirius moved to retrieve the envelope from its beak.

Sirius's mother had stopped the pounding and had resorted to screeching "_Alohomora_!" repeatedly, as if Sirius had thought that merely locking the door would keep the witch out. He had not achieved an O on his charms O.W.L. the previous spring for nothing and his door was currently sealed with no less than fourteen separate anti-unlocking charms. They wouldn't hold up forever, but they would last long enough to frustrate his mother and, hopefully, get him grounded for long enough to exempt him from his cousin Narcissa's engagement party.

Sirius tore through wax and poured the contents of James's letter onto his desk. A small slip of parchment fell out first.

_Padfoot-_

_My parents say you're welcome to stay with us for the rest of the holidays if you'd like, so long as you don't get us arrested or in trouble with the Ministry. Don't know where she gets the idea that we'd ever do anything illegal._

_So Floo over as soon as you're packed, yeah?_

_Oh, and I found these in some Muggle store outside King's Cross after term ended. Meant to send them to you a while ago. Your parents will love them._

_Cheers_

_-Prongs_

Sirius reached into the envelope to remove a pile of Muggle photographs – all of girls in bikinis. He smiled despite himself. James was right, his parents would be furious.

His mother was yelling again ("You are underage, young man, and don't you dare think for a second that I won't go telling the ministry about these charms if you don't remove them _this instant_!"), but without a moment's hesitation he grabbed his wand and focused on casting permanent sticking charms to the photographs.

He found some empty space on the wall between a few Gryffindor banners – his parents may not have been thrilled with his Hogwarts house, but they couldn't really justify complaining about the red and gold; his Uncle Cygnus had been sorted into Gryffindor and he'd still turned out perfectly loathable, after all – and stuck the photographs up on the wall.

His room had needed some redecorating, anyway.

"This is not the proper way for you to behave. I don't care if you're sixteen years old, you are still my son and I expect you to treat me with respect!" his mother was yelling, but Sirius pointed his wand at the already-packed trunk off his floor (_Wingardium Leviosa) _and threw open the door.

His mother looked ready to keep yelling, but the words seemed to fail her as she glanced around at the new photographs on his wall.

Then her voice was back, this time low and deadly serious: "Take those down this instant."

"Sorry, mum," Sirius said, sending the levitating trunk out in front of him. "Can't. I'm leaving for the Potters' now. See you at Christmas!"

Then he pushed past her and headed down the stairs to the fireplace.

"Give her and dad my love, will you?" He told an amused-looking Regulus. "I'll see you at school."

Then he reached for the jar of Floo powder and recited James's address in Godric's Hollow.

_A/N: This is going to be a collection of semi-related, semi-unrelated one-shots. I'll update when I can. Reviews are much appreciated and happy December!_


	2. Young Lust

For **lezonne**'s **Duct Tape Competition** on HPFC.

Color: White

Prompt: write fanon

Here, have some (one-sided) Dramione. Takes place during 3rd year.

Word count: 1101

**White**

1

Draco is not a nice boy.

He's meant to be working on his transfiguration essay, but there are snowflakes falling outside, blanketing the grounds in a soft white. The lake is nearly frozen over and a couple of idiot first years are walking across the thin layer of ice. Draco wonders what would happen if the ice cracked and one of them fell through.

He pushes the thought from his head. He may be _mean_, but he's not usually the morbid type.

It's already January, but it's the first snow of the year and even though he's thirteen it's still exciting.

He turns back to the essay. _According to Gramp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration…_

Draco pauses, lifting his quill for a moment because he hears what he thinks must be someone crying from the back corner of the library. He makes up his mind and stands, though he's not sure why.

He stops when he sees who it is. He has never seen Granger cry before – granted, she spent a large portion of the previous year unconscious in the hospital wing, so he's never really had the opportunity – but the sight is alarming at best.

He can't very well go and talk to her. She's bloody annoying, for one thing, and a Mudblood for another, and a know-it-all teacher's pet.

But as he sits back down at his own table, he wonders what made her cry.

Then he wonders why he cares.

2

Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures classes were canceled for a day on account of the snow, so to make up the time Hufflepuff gets tossed into the Gryffindor-Slytherin potions lesson on Thursday. Draco winds up sitting next to Hannah Abbott, who goes about her work in silence, her ordinarily happy mood considerably dimmer.

Then Seamus Finnigan sets something on fire and Snape docks 20 points from Gryffindor before sending Dean Thomas to the hospital wing with him. Snape looks around the room – there are empty seats next to Neville Longbottom and Hermione Granger – and apparently make the judgment that the two Gryffindors should not work together.

Snape sighs, then, "Abbott, work with Longbottom and see if you can do something about his obvious incompetence. Malfoy," he fixes Draco with a stern look, "Work with Granger."

And so he finds himself sitting next to Hermione Granger, bushy-haired and large-toothed and… _muggle-born_.

His father would have an aneurysm if he knew.

"You're doing it wrong," she hisses at him, reaching over to grab the ladle from his hand.

He almost snaps at her about her crying in the library – he knows exactly how he'd deliver the line, too, in a stage whisper just loud enough for the rest of the class to hear and for her to _know_ that the rest of the class could hear – but their fingertips brush and he's so startled by the contact that he can't get the words out.

Neither one of them has pulled their hand back. Draco knows he needs to let go of the ladle but he's just sitting there, staring at Hermione Granger.

She raises her eyebrows at him, silently daring him to _move his hand_ before she hexes him into oblivion, and _finally_ Draco complies.

He feels the need to cover up whatever-the-hell just happened, so he says calmly, "Don't know how Potter and Weasley can stand hanging around someone so bossy all the time. Do you do their homework for them or something?"

It's not one of his better insults, but it works. Granger flushes scarlet.

"Actually," she responds, concentrating on weighing a pile of beetles eyes on the scale, "We aren't speaking right now."

Well, _that_ was interesting.

Not that he cared.

"Besides," Granger continues, "At least I _do_ my homework, instead of faking an injury and getting out of all of it."

"I'll have you know that my arm is still sore," he says.

Granger rolls her eyes at him.

They don't speak the rest of the class.

3

One night Draco dreams that he is kissing Hermione Granger.

He wakes up with a start, heart hammering as though he's just had a nightmare. And perhaps he has.

He's only just begun to take interest in girls at all, but up until now he's been able to ignore it.

He's not sure how he's going to ignore this. Thinking that Daphne Greengrass has pretty eyes or that Tracey Davis smells nice is entirely different from dreaming about snogging a Mudblood.

He squeezes his eyes shut and leans back against his pillow, but the image of Granger's face plays back against his eyelids.

4

The white snow has turned to a gross brown slush that sticks to his boots as he heads to the Quidditch pitch. He needs to clear his head.

_I don't fancy her. I don't fancy her. I don't fancy her._

If he repeats it enough, maybe it will be true.

5

There's a part of him that wants to like her and he needs to stop feeling that way. His father would murder him if he knew, because she's a Mudblood, and Draco's not yet at the point where he can do things against his father's will.

He needs to stop feeling like there's even the remote possibility that

And so when he sees her walking with Anthony Goldstein – she's still in a fight with Weasley and Potter – he ignores every protest the back of his mind provides and searches for a way to hurt her. An insult about her blood status won't affect her in the long run and even mentioning that she was crying in the library will just let her deny it.

His hand makes his way to his pocket before he even fully realizes what he's about to do, but by the time his brain makes the connection it's too late.

He tosses the knut on the ground in front of Anthony. The Ravenclaw glances up at him briefly, obviously aware of what's about to happen, and walks straight past the coin.

"Oi, Goldstein!" Draco finds himself yelling, drawing the name out. "Don't you want to pick that up?"

"Fuck off, Malfoy," Anthony mutters, continuing to walk.

Draco feels slurs rising to the tip of his tongue and he lets them fly, hating himself just a little.

The look on Granger's face is worth it though. He's in the process of confirming every ill thought she's ever had about him, and it makes his heart ache, but he's ending any possibility of anything ever happening between them, and that's what matters.

After all, Draco is not a nice boy.

_A/N: I don't know how I feel about this one. I don't really like Dramione, to be honest, but hey it's fanon so here it is._


	3. (But I Like It)

For the** Duct Tape Competition**

**Color: **Red

**Prompt**: write about something tempting

**Summary: **"James really wasn't as funny as he thought he was."

**Word Count**: 1354

**Red**

"And she _never_ does the bloody dishes. Honestly, it's absolutely disgusting. She'll just leave them piled up for days, as if – Lily, are you listening to me?"

"Hmmm?"

"Come on, at least a little sympathy for the fact that I have to live with an absolutely horrid roommate?"

"I'm very sympathetic," Lily deadpanned.

"I mean, don't your roommates ever drive you mad, at your school? You should transfer to Whitaker and be my roommate so I can get rid of Sandy. I don't see why you have to go to school in _Scotland_ of all places."

Karen had been making the same arguments about Hogwarts for six years and Lily had been giving her the same answers. They had been best friends in primary school, but now their time together was restricted to the holidays.

"I've told you, they offered me a scholarship and my parents can pay for Petunia's school with the extra money. It would have been selfish to say no."

That was a blatant lie. It had been selfish for her to go to Hogwarts in the first place, when all Petunia had wanted was to go to school together. She put it out of her head.

"But," Karen said, flipping her light hair over her shoulder. She'd tried to style it like Farrah Fawcett, but in the summer humidity it wouldn't stay in place and kept falling her face.

Lily followed the movement with her eyes and saw –

No. No. There was no _possible_ way that he was here. They were in Muggle London, after all, and he was a pureblood. And true, she had no idea where he lived, but his accent didn't _sound_ like a Londoner's.

Granted, hers didn't either, and Surrey wasn't really that far from London, hence why she and Karen were spending the day here in the first place (Surrey, Karen had declared, was _boring_), but _he_ shouldn't be here.

"Are you listening to me?"

"Yeah, 'course," Lily muttered.

"No, you're not," Karen accused, turning around to follow Lily's gaze. "You're looking at that – ooh, he's cute."

"Yeah, I guess," Lily said. "Do you want ice cream? There's a shop down this way—"

"Oh, no you don't," Karen said, grabbing Lily's wrist and all but dragging her towards the shop _he_ was entering. "You _never_ go after guys, Lils, and you _were_ watching him."

The door to the record store fell shut behind them, setting off a few bells to alert the staff that they were there.

_He _glanced up at the sound, then did a double take when he saw the two girls standing there.

"…Evans?" he sounded incredulous.

"Potter," Lily replied coolly.

"You _know_ him?" Karen interjected, helpfully, of course.

"He goes to my school." _And he asks me out every chance he gets and it's driving me crazy because all of a sudden I've gotten the crazy delusion in my head that James Potter is attractive._

Lily pushed the thought away. It wasn't so much that James was attractive – everyone with eyes knew that – as it was that when he wasn't relentlessly pursuing her or bullying Severus, he was actually a decent person.

Leave it to her to start fancying a guy _after_ he'd given up on her.

No. She didn't _fancy_ James. Not at all.

"I'm Karen Reynolds," Karen stuck out her hand. James reached out his own to shake it, still looking at Lily with an expression of mild surprise.

"James Potter."

The radio in the shop was blasting some Rolling Stones song – _If I could dig down deep in my heart, feelings would flood on the page…_ – and Lily tried to come up with any possible way to get out of this situation.

"So how'd you meet at this mysterious Scottish boarding school that Lily never gives me any details about?"

"Oh," James said, "We met on the train our first year. It was almost… magical."

Lily shot him a look.

_Would it satisfy you, would it slide on by you…_

"Really," Karen said, absorbing everything as though James Potter was the most interesting person she'd ever met.

"Yeah," James said, "Lily was really_… charming_."

Oh, sod it. She'd charmed the door of her and Severus's train car to lock whenever James tried to open it, if that's what he was getting at.

James really wasn't as funny as he thought he was.

Lily elbowed him in the side in response to his comment and – _damn_, he was fit.

No. No, no, no, you don't like him.

_Would you think the boy's insane? He's insane…_

"So," Karen said, either not noticing or deliberately ignoring the violence in front of her, "Do you have a girlfriend?"

Lily braced herself for what she knew was coming next. Why did Karen have to be so upfront about everything?

"That depends," James said, glancing at Lily. "Go out with me, Evans?"

"Tempting," she said, rolling her eyes. "Still no."

Lily was pretty sure that Karen's mouth fell open.

"That hurts, Evans, you know that?" James placed a fist over his chest in mock grief.

"Sorry. I'm sure you're all torn up from the shock."

"Do you want to tell me what in" – Lily censored herself from saying _Merlin_ – "God's name you're doing here?"

"Looking for a record," James said, as though that made any sense at all.

"I mean here in _this half _of London. And do you even own a record player?"

"You don't have a record player?" Karen cut in.

Lily and James ignored her.

_I said I know it's only rock and roll but I like it._

"I was buying these for Sirius," he said, holding up an envelope.

It was unsealed, so Lily peeked inside. They were Muggle photographs of girls in bikinis and motorbikes.

"Nice," she mumbled, handing it back to James.

"What's serious?" Karen asked.

"Sirius Black's my best mate," James said. "His whole family's named after stars. They're all a bit mental, if you ask me."

_And do you think that you're the only girl around?_

"Oh. That's…"

_I bet you think that you're the only woman in town._

"Hey, Lily, come over here a second?" James had migrated to one of the shelves. Lily left Karen staring at a shelf of The Kinks. James pointed at a record. "How do I…?"

He held a handful of Muggle currency out to her. Lily rolled her eyes and counted out the coins and banknotes for him. "They should give you fifteen pence back in change."

"Thanks."

He was close enough that she could have reached out and held his hand, if she wanted to.

_I said I know it's only rock and roll but I like it._

"Can I ask why you're buying that?"

"Maybe I've taken an interest in Muggle music."

_I said I know it's only rock and roll but I like it._

"Right."

"I'll tell you why I'm buying it if you let me take you out to lunch after this."

_I said I know it's only rock and roll but I like it, like it, yes, I do…_

He stood barely a foot in front of her, his face just out of reach. If she rose up on her toes, she could meet his lips with her own. She had no doubt that he'd respond in kind, maybe press her against the shelf of records, his chest flush against hers.

The fact that she was having thoughts like that wasn't as disconcerting as the fact that she almost – almost – wanted to say yes.

She could never let herself do that. No matter how tempting James's words might be, she could never give him that kind of satisfaction.

So she forced herself to roll her eyes and mutter, "Not a chance."

James shrugged, as always, and headed to the register to pay for his record.

There, done, no more conversation needed until you see each other at Hogwarts in September.

"Wait," Lily found herself calling.

James stopped, turned, waited.

_Oh, well I like it, I like it, I like it…_

"Don't buy that one. The Who are much better than Pink Floyd."

_A/N: I do not own The Rolling Stones or their music_


	4. I've Had Enough

**Prompt: **Yellow, write a story taking place during the day.

**Warnings**: substance abuse (alcohol)

**Yellow**

_I've had enough of dancehalls_

_I've had enough of pills_

_I've had enough of streetfights_

_I've seen my share of kills_

_-The Who_

It's three o'clock in the afternoon and Draco Malfoy is on his third gin and tonic at some Muggle bar whose name he can't remember.

He thinks he might be near Manchester, but in the two years since the war his Apparation has been shaky at best and he often miscalculates. He's spent more than a few nights on the streets and woken up more than a few mornings in unfamiliar cities with an all-too-familiar hangover.

His parents are worried about him, he's heard from the few acquaintances he's run into on his escapades. But his parents are trying to _lie low_ and rebuild the _family reputation_, as though a renewed interest in philanthropy and his mother's insistence not to be listed as next-of-kin in Bellatrix Lestrange's obituary would lead the rest of the world to forget their part in everything.

Draco, for his part, had made the effort to search for a respectable job; something entry-level in the ministry, perhaps, or managing accounts for a shop somewhere. Over time, he'd broadened the search to include even menial labor: working as a cashier for any of the shops that lined Diagon Alley, bartending for Madame Rosmerta…

No one was looking to hire him, to be connected in the slightest with the name _Malfoy_.

It was true that he didn't _have_ to work; his family was sitting comfortably on a sizeable inheritance. His own parents had never worked a day in their lives, save for his father's involvement in various boards of overseers.

But since the war, sitting around in Malfoy Manor all day was its own special form of torture. Potter may have convinced the Ministry against sending his family to Azkaban, but teams of aurors patrolled the Manor regularly, inspecting for any clue that the Malfoy family might still be involved with the Death Eaters, even after the Dark Lord's demise.

And so Draco has taken to spending his days at pubs – always a different town, and always a Muggle bar, since he doesn't want to meet anyone who would recognize him on sight (blonde hair and grey eyes and an aristocratic nose are bad for that) – and drinking to make it easier to wallow in his self-pity.

His hair has grown out past his ears and he hasn't shaved in ages, so he's sure he looks like any other drunk, the only difference being his age. Draco is sure that the Muggle clothes he's wearing aren't in fashion, but the alcohol swimming in his brain keeps him from caring.

He knocks back the rest of his drink and slams the empty glass down against the counter. The bartender – a girl with dyed pink hair and a ring through her eyebrow – glances at him.

"I'll have another."

"You sure about that, mate?" she asks, looking him up and down and probably coming to the conclusion that he's an utterly pathetic human being.

He nods at her, handing over a pile of Muggle money – he has no clue how much; he never did learn the value of pounds and pence – and blinks around at the nearly empty bar around him.

The bartender shakes her head in disapproval, but pours him another drink anyway.

"Take your time on this one, y'hear me?" she asks as she sets it down in front of him. "Don't make me have to cut you off before the sun even goes down."

Draco glares at her, taking the drink and praying that maybe with this one he can wash away the guilt and sorrow. In another universe, he'd be sober and clean-shaven and able to flirt with this bartender and go home to a not-completely-dysfunctional family and get up in the morning for work.

But that's not the kind of person he is.

The bartender's judgmental gaze tells him all he needs to know.

It's three o'clock in the afternoon and Draco Malfoy is on his fourth gin and tonic at some Muggle bar whose name he can't remember.

_I'm finished with the fashions_

_And acting like I'm tough  
I'm bored with hate and passion_

_I've had enough of trying to love_


End file.
